


Departing Formalities

by OneofWebs



Series: Sandalphon Die Challenge [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Doesn't Make An Effort (Good Omens), Blood, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Creepy Sandalphon (Good Omens), Deleted Scene: Aziraphale's Bookshop 1800 (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, First Time Blow Jobs, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: When it becomes clear that Aziraphale has certainly been fraternizing with a certain Demon, Sandalphon returns to the Bookshop to give Aziraphale a proper warning. If he doesn't want Head Office to find out what he's been doing, even if it is Sandalphon's version of what he's been doing, then Aziraphale had best do at he's told. He's always been so good at doing what he's told.Warning: Graphic depictions of non-con





	Departing Formalities

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags: This does contain graphic non-con/rape for Sandalphon/Aziraphale
> 
> The ending is mostly set up the way it is, just in case I want to come back and write more for this particular new world my server 100% encouraged the creation of. But we'll see. Have a nice time. There are frogs at the end if you make it through.

If there was one thing Aziraphale was good at, it was remembering to lock up the bookshop and turn the sign to reflect the state of business. Closed, as it were. They were most definitely, quite certainly closed. Aziraphale never forgot, and he wouldn’t. Not on the very first day he’d opened. It had been quite the upkeep, shooing customers from an opening day. He hadn’t even managed to escape completely free and did mourn the few books he’d had to sell. But he had been quite sure he’d closed the shop, promptly, at six. He would go out for dinner, perhaps. Treat himself to a fine glass of wine after a long day. And it had been an especially, excruciatingly long day. There was still a nervous tick in his hand as he finished shelving a final book.

Things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, which wasn’t entirely unusual. Aziraphale wasn’t particularly attached to plans for that very reason, but this plan hadn’t even been his own. He’d seen Crowley outside the shop window and had been so, ever thankful to see him there. But he couldn’t just invite him in. Not when Gabriel and Sandalphon had been standing there. If Crowley had come in, things might have gone much worse. For what it was worth, they had retracted Aziraphale’s sudden promotion without fanfare or explanation, and Aziraphale thought himself rather alone. Incredibly alone, because Crowley did not return. Somebody had, though, even given Aziraphale’s remembrance to flip the sign. He’d heard the bell go off.

Aziraphale couldn’t contain his grumble as he rounded a shelf, to make his way back to the front of the shop. Hopefully, it would just be a customer who hadn’t paid much attention to signs and was just happy about a flier they had found. They should be easily shooed off, and Aziraphale could go back to his book sorting.

“Now, we are very much, definitely closed—” Aziraphale stopped short when he saw just _who_ had entered the shop. Sandalphon had returned, alone, and stood there in the middle of the entry way with his hands folded behind his back. He was just watching, expectantly, and followed as Aziraphale stepped around to meet him.

“I wasn’t expecting you back,” Aziraphale said, and his voice wavered.

“Yes, well, Gabriel sends his deepest apologies, you understand. He had some place to be. He did so wish he could come back to celebrate the recent…development,” Sandalphon mulled the word over, then grinned something toothy. He took a step forward, and Aziraphale just watched.

“I didn’t realize celebrations were in order,” Aziraphale smiled. “Perhaps you’d like some wine, then? I have this wonderful bottle of—”

Sandalphon grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist before he could turn completely. Aziraphale’s eyes went wide for a long moment before he dared a glance up at Sandalphon. It was no quiet secret, who Sandalphon was. Involved in smiting, a _practical hand _of God, so to speak, where Gabriel was more practice in word. Sandalphon had always been more practiced in action. He’d said this was a celebration, but the grip of his hand said something entirely different. Aziraphale could feel the pain of it, migrating up his arm as Sandalphon held harder, dragged him closer.

“Not _that_ kind of celebration, I’m afraid,” he said, voice dripping in _something_ Aziraphale couldn’t quite place. He knew well enough that something was wrong, and that he should try to get away. But the minute he wrenched his hand, Sandalphon held tighter and yanked him closer. Closer enough that he could grab onto Aziraphale’s other arm and keep him still, faces inches apart, and Sandalphon grinned.

“Consider it something _personal_,” Sandalphon said. “I saw the demon outside your shop.”

“Wh—Whatever are you talking about, demon? No—no, there is _no_ demon, certainly not here—” Aziraphale’s mind raced faster than he could talk, and he still tried to struggle against Sandalphon’s hold. If it had been anyone, just a regular angel, Aziraphale would have truly fought back. Sandalphon had _power_ over him, though. Sandalphon was an Archangel. He could say just one word to the Almighty, and Aziraphale’s entire life would be turned upside-down.

“Please,” Sandalphon sneered, “we all know you babble when you’re lying. Terrible liar, really, you are. You should learn to tell the truth.” There was a sudden burning sensation that flew through Aziraphale’s wrists, down to his fingertips and back up through his very bones.

“W-wait! Please, I—” Aziraphale cried out, but he still couldn’t get away. “Yes, yes! There was a demon, the demon Crowley, please—please stop—” the fire ceased all at once, and Aziraphale felt his knees knock together. He could only pray there would be no scars. There was no way he could explain scars to Crowley, if Crowley returned. If Crowley asked, and he would most certainly ask. “Please,” Aziraphale said again, weaker.

“To see you consorting with a demon has rather,” Sandalphon paused, tilting his head to the side and looking with feigned sympathy, “disappointed me. You were put down here to do good, were you not? Not to _fraternize_ with a demon.”

“We’re not, I swear—” but the fire returned, and Aziraphale gasped out. “We’re not! It’s—it’s just friendly terms! If—if we’re friendly, he—he _tells_ me where he’s going, and I can—” the fire stopped, and Sandalphon even looked _pleased_ with the answer.

“Surely, a friend is not so obligated to bring _flowers_ to your shop,” Sandalphon said. “This doesn’t sound like something Head Office wants to hear about, does it, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale shook his head. He cursed himself, internally. He wasn’t fighting back. He was _letting _Sandalphon do this to him, without so much as a cry for help. But it was Sandalphon, an Archangel known for his ability to _smite_. If Aziraphale did anything too far out of line, maybe he would find a fate much worse than whatever it was Sandalphon had in mind. And Aziraphale had an idea of what it was, when Sandalphon dragged him towards the back room of the shop.

There was no door to the back room, but it was well hidden, well isolated, and the shop was _closed_. It wouldn’t matter if there was a door or not. Nobody would be here to see. Aziraphale expected to be scolded, even struck across the face. Maybe he’d be beaten for his connection with Crowley, and that would be fine. He would accept a fitting punishment for his crime, and Sandalphon was the best one to do it. Only, when he let go of Aziraphale’s wrists, it was not to strike him. It was to grab at Aziraphale’s bow tie and slowly, slowly undo it. Slide it away from his neck.

“Sandalphon—” Aziraphale’s voice betrayed him.

“If you don’t want Head Office to know about what you’ve done, you’ll do what your told, won’t you?” Sandalphon eyed him pointedly. “Like a good little angel.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“If you’re _especially_ good,” Sandalphon continued working away Aziraphale’s jacket, his waist coat, “I won’t even hurt your demon. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? If we left him alone?”

“Please, don’t hurt him,” Aziraphale responded.

“Do feel free to struggle just a little bit,” Sandalphon grinned. “I like when they’re not _too_ easy—”

All at once, Sandalphon had taken Aziraphale by the shirt and _ripped_ it open. The buttons popped, clattered to the floor, and Aziraphale followed a short second later. Being spun around, forced down to his knees, and the pain that shot up from the impact had Aziraphale whimpering. His shirt was on the ground, now, and he was left topless. Exposed. Horribly vulnerable, and it was all he could do to close his eyes and try to inch backward when he came face-to-face with Sandalphon’s crotch.

He could see the outline of Sandalphon’s cock, through his pants, and it made him sick. Sandalphon was already hard, and for what he lacked in length, he made up for in girth. The moment he’d fished himself out of his pants, Sandalphon was pressing the thick head of his prick against Aziraphale’s lips, rubbing the dripping precum from the tip along the crease of them. Aziraphale kept his mouth tightly closed, his eyes, too. Sandalphon’s hand was in his hair, then, wrenching his head back and yanking so hard he cried out. The _second_ his lips parted, Sandalphon shoved his cock forward. His grip on Aziraphale’s hair didn’t let up until Aziraphale had taken all of it, to the back of his throat, and his nose was buried in the thick thatch of pubic hair at the base.

“If you even think to bite,” Sandalphon warned. He didn’t have to say more. Aziraphale closed his eyes and thought to just let it happen, to let Sandalphon drag his mouth over his own prick—but it wouldn’t be that easy. Sandalphon took his hand back and instead held Aziraphale’s hands to his hips, so he couldn’t _leave_. But he would have to do the work. He would have to _want_ it.

Tears prickled out of Aziraphale’s eyes as he started to move. A slow, uneven thing—he’d never done this. No matter how he’d looked at Crowley and _imagined_ that he might do this, one day, for him, Aziraphale never had. Now, to have Sandalphon’s cock in his mouth, stretching his lips apart, and rubbing over his tongue, the idea was tainted. He closed his eyes tighter to try and block it out, but _all_ he could see was Sandalphon, even through the blackness of his eyelids. He knew it was Sandalphon; the feel of his hands, his nails digging into Aziraphale’s skin. The musk of him, the horrid smell.

Aziraphale curled his lips over his teeth to keep it smooth. He bobbed his head, sucking over the head when he pulled all the way back. With the way Sandalphon had his arms, he couldn’t pull back enough to remove himself. Sandalphon’s cock would be in his mouth no matter how he moved, how he struggled, or how he cried. It lasted all of a terrible minute, before he heard Sandalphon scoff above him.

“Some slut you are,” Sandalphon said. “Can’t even suck a cock properly. Has your _demon_ never used you like this?”

No. Never. Crowley would _never_ do this to him.

Sandalphon took a tight hold of Aziraphale’s head then, and the sudden pace of his hips was brutal. He fucked into Aziraphale’s mouth, his hips slapping forward, his balls into Aziraphale’s chin. He heard Aziraphale _choke_, and the sound was something like music. When the tears flowed freely, Sandalphon just worked himself harder. Faster. Throwing his head back into a groan when his cockhead hit the back of Aziraphale’s throat. The stretch of those lips around his prick was _divine_, and he could already see a future where Aziraphale dropped to his knees each time he entered the room. He’d make a nice, wet, warm home for his cock in Aziraphale’s mouth, and Aziraphale would _like_ it.

There was drool dripping down Aziraphale’s chin, tears down his cheeks, and every thrust forward he choked again on Sandalphon’s cock. He couldn’t think enough to get rid of it—the gag reflex. He didn’t need it; he shouldn’t have it. But his mind couldn’t connect up from down, anymore, so he choked and sputtered around Sandalphon’s prick until Sandalphon held him there, with his cock as deep as it would go in Aziraphale’s throat, and Aziraphale all but trembled to get away. He didn’t need to breathe, but the _want_ to breathe would send him into a panic.

Sandalphon had the nerve to _count_ each second he held Aziraphale there, and every passing one had him squirming more, groaning around Sandalphon’s cock in his inability to speak. He wanted to get away, he wanted to pull back and _breathe_ again. It took ten seconds before Sandalphon let him go, and Aziraphale pulled off his cock. Aziraphale didn’t even have a minute to gasp for air before Sandalphon was splattering cum over his face, his lips. It was thick and white, and hung heavy on Aziraphale’s face where he could _feel_ every centimeter of the streaks. He wanted to vomit. Aziraphale wanted to vomit more than anything, and then Sandalphon was wiping the cum from his face, only to shove the soiled fingers down Aziraphale’s throat.

Aziraphale seized up and tried to pull back, but Sandalphon had a grip on his head that kept him right where he was, right where Sandalphon wanted him while he fucked his fingers farther down Aziraphale’s throat. It tasted sour, salty, and Aziraphale couldn’t bear a second longer. He was forced to, until Sandalphon had thoroughly cleaned his own fingers off in Aziraphale’s mouth, then shoved him down to the floor. Aziraphale barely caught himself before Sandalphon was following, taking Aziraphale by the hips and ripping his trousers down to his knees. Aziraphale’s undergarments left _much_ to be desired, and Sandalphon ripped them down too.

What met him was the soft, smooth expanse of Aziraphale’s pelvic mound. Aziraphale was hairless, sexless, and didn’t so much as shiver when Sandalphon ran his hand over the skin. Unfortunately, Sandalphon didn’t so much as look upset, deterred. In fact, he dug his thumb over the mound where Aziraphale’s cunt might have been, if he had one, and the pain that came from it had Aziraphale crying out. He couldn’t get away—not with the way his trousers and pants had tangled around his knees, not with Sandalphon’s grip on his hip.

“You think having nothing down here will keep you from me?” Sandalphon grinned. “I’ve been _dreaming_ about this. Your soft skin, oh,” Sandalphon ran his fingers over the mound again. “You must be a virgin, aren’t you?”

When Aziraphale didn’t answer, Sandalphon’s _nails_ were digging into the sensitive skin of his mound, and Aziraphale cried out and struggled. He tried to get away, but the _fire_ burned up again, and a fresh stream of tears drained from his eyes.

“Please—stop!” Aziraphale cried. “I—I am. I’ve never—with _anyone_, please, please don’t do this!”

Sandalphon smiled, and his touch softened. “You should know, my little angel,” Sandalphon’s voice dropped in volume as he leaned over, his lips brushing Aziraphale’s ear as he spoke next, “that I _love_ virgins.”

Aziraphale choked out a sob. When Sandalphon grabbed him by the hips and rolled him, Aziraphale just _let_ it happen. He laid face down on the floor of his own shop, with Sandalphon’s hands running down his back, down over the swell of his arse to grab at his cheeks and spread them apart. There, Aziraphale had a puckered little hole, that despite how he stiffened and clenched, wouldn’t just _disappear_. Sandalphon ran his thumb over it, and Aziraphale jolted, jerked, but he couldn’t get anywhere.

“There’s this sense of belonging, you know,” Sandalphon spoke plainly, like they were just chatting in an open room amongst friends. Even with how the pad of his thumb tried to bury itself inside of Aziraphale. “After you’ve had a virgin, they remember your touch forever. You’ll _belong_ to me, princess.”

Aziraphale whimpered, trying to claw through the floor to pull himself away, but Sandalphon grabbed his wrists and wrenched his arms behind his back.

“I’ll turn you from a flowering virgin into my own personal slut. You’d like that, I bet. Knowing someone has control over you. You’ve always been so _good_ at doing what you’re told—”

“Stop! Stop, please!” Aziraphale suddenly shrieked, his tears renewed when he felt the blunt head of Sandalphon’s cock between his cheeks. Right up against his hole, like he met to do this dry, bear, without anything to ease it. Aziraphale knew enough, could _feel _enough, that he’d never be the same after that.

“You want me to stop, princess?” Sandalphon grinned. “You want me to leave and go tell the Almighty Herself what you’ve been up to? Lusting after a demon, consorting with him. And who am I to say you haven’t bent over for him already, hm? I bet She’d believe me over you.”

“No—no, no, no,” Aziraphale cried. “Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything—”

“You’ll do exactly as I tell you,” Sandalphon hissed. He pulled back, and Aziraphale breathed a deep sigh of relief. “You have until I get bored, little thing, to prepare yourself. How’s that? I’m not so cruel after all.” Sandalphon grinned to himself and let go of Aziraphale’s arms. “I suspect you should thank me.”

“Th-thank you,” Aziraphale gasped out. “Thank you—thank you.”

“No miracles, now,” Sandalphon warned with a hand over Aziraphale’s cheek. Like he might raise it and _swat_ at him.

Aziraphale worked quickly, sucking on his own fingers before reaching around to feel over the tight ring of his hole. He knew the _theory_ behind this. He’d dreamed out it, before. He’d dreamed of Crowley being the one to do it, and that was what he stuck with when he first pressed his finger in. The fantasy disappeared before it’d even started, though. Aziraphale’s fingers weren’t long and skillful. He bumbled about, fretting just how he was supposed to do this. It felt strange—nothing about it felt good, like he’d always hoped. There was just a burning stretch before his finger was inside himself, and then he started to move it.

He pushed in a second finger far before he was ready, but he didn’t know how much _time_ he had. Some preparation would be better than none at all, and that’s what Sandalphon had threatened. Behind him, he could hear Sandalphon stroking his cock in anticipation, fucking into his fist at the sight of Aziraphale knuckle deep in his own arse. He tried for a third finger, then, but choked on his own sob when the stretch started to burn. He wouldn’t be able to do this. He didn’t have time; he didn’t have anything slick. All he could do was pull his fingers back to spit on them, but by the time he had reached back around to his arse, Sandalphon slapped his hand away.

“You’re ready for me, princess,” Sandalphon hissed.

“No! No—no, no, please, it’s going to hurt—”

“It’s _supposed _to hurt.” Sandalphon yanked Aziraphale up onto his hands and knees. “It’s not _fun_ otherwise, not for me.”

“Please, no—anything else. I’ll do _anything—_”

“You’ll beg for it, is what you’ll do,” Sandalphon said, pressing the head of his cock over Aziraphale’s hole.

“_Please_—!”

“Just like that,” Sandalphon urged. “Beg for me, pet. Maybe I’ll be nice.”

Aziraphale cried out, but he nodded into the floorboards. “P-please, Sandalphon. I—I want your cock. I want you inside of me, please—!” Aziraphale’s hips even bucked. “T-Take me, make me yours! I—I want to belong to you—”

“That’s it,” Sandalphon grinned. He started to press forward, and Aziraphale _screamed._ The stretch turned to a burn, and whatever slick he felt wasn’t anything pleasant. His entire body seemed to light on fire, and his hips shook. He tried to get away, but Sandalphon only came closer with grunts and forced thrusts—until he had buried himself inside of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale’s cries had gone silent with shock. His tears flowed freely, and he couldn’t so much as form a _thought_. Everything hurt. He could feel something dripping from his hole, and he was afraid to know what it was.

Sandalphon didn’t give him even a moment to recover before he started to fuck forward. Each thrust was brutal and hard, their skin slapped together, his balls hit the blank skin of Aziraphale’s mound each time they met. And oh, it hurt so bad. Aziraphale had screwed his eyes shut, wrung his hands together, and tried to keep himself quiet. But he couldn’t. Every thrust wrenched a scream from his throat, and to make matters worse, oh, Sandalphon _talked _to him.

“You like that, don’t you? Look how you just opened right up for me—” and his thumb brushed over the rim of Aziraphale’s hole; Aziraphale nearly gagged, lurched forward, and Sandalphon was there to drag him back. “I’ll turn you into a whore, yet. You were made for this, to please me. I’ll bury my cock inside you whenever I want.”

“P-Please,” Aziraphale gasped out.

Sandalphon threw his head back with a groan; Aziraphale _wanted_ this. He wanted more of it. He wanted to give himself over to Sandalphon completely: bend over for him, spread his thighs. Oh, Sandalphon would take advantage of this. He’d turn Aziraphale from a blushing virgin into a needy little cock-whore, and Aziraphale would _let_ him. As long as that threat was hanging over his head, Aziraphale would let Sandalphon do anything to him.

“I’ll be your master,” Sandalphon continued. “You’ll belong entirely to me, do exactly as I say—your demon won’t want you anymore after this, anyway. I can take _care _of you.”

Sandalphon continued thrusting, harder—he wasn’t getting tired. He gripped his hands into Aziraphale’s hips and yanked him back to meet every painful thrust. The sound of Aziraphale’s whimpers and cries just egged him on, made him go harder. He wanted to hear the way Aziraphale screamed when he was finally filled. Aziraphale must have been dying to be filled.

“You won’t even finish,” Sandalphon laughed. “You didn’t give yourself an effort. Maybe I can force one out of you,” he said, running his fingers down around Aziraphale’s skin, over his mound. Aziraphale yelped and tried to struggle away, but Sandalphon held him close. “I could craft you the prettiest little pussy, couldn’t I? A nice place to make you _mine_. I wonder if angels can get pregnant—”

“No! No, no, no, please—” Aziraphale cried. “I don’t—I don’t!

“You will,” Sandalphon moved his hand away to brace himself over Aziraphale’s back. He pushed Aziraphale’s chest down into the floor and renewed his effort. “You’ll be _begging_ for my babies, soon enough. I can’t wait to bury myself in your cunt. It’ll feel so good, and you’ll beg me for more. You’ll beg me to fill you, cover you in my seed. I know you will, princess, won’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly. He bit down into his lip to keep from crying out again; his throat hurt, his body hurt, everything was a burning sort of pain he knew he’d feel for days. Sandalphon didn’t even seem to notice. He was so busy fucking into Aziraphale. His hips moved erratically, and the slap of flesh was loud, obscene. Aziraphale knew he was crying, but things were fading away. The sound of it—he could barely hear Sandalphon’s groans, anymore. The more he ignored it, the more he could tell himself later that it hadn’t happened. It would be hard to deny with the aches and the pains and the following moment.

Sandalphon groaned out once more, and his hips snapped hard into Aziraphale. He came a second later, thick strips of semen filling Aziraphale, literally. Sandalphon didn’t _stop_ coming until Aziraphale felt heavy, uncomfortable. And then, when Sandalphon pulled back, Aziraphale collapsed into the floor with a renewed sob. Sandalphon’s _seed_ dripped down his thighs in thick glops that made him _sick_. He would have vomited on the floor, if he’d had anything to eat so far—instead he heaved, dry, into the floorboards and tried to collect himself the best he could. His eyes were still closed tightly, but he felt Sandalphon’s hand through his hair.

“You did so _well_, pet,” Sandalphon said. “What do we say to masters who treat us well?”

“Th-thank you,” Aziraphale grit out.

Sandalphon waited expectantly, rubbing his fingers between Aziraphale’s cheeks as a silent threat to continue, if he didn’t get what he wanted.

“Thank you, Master,” Aziraphale managed. He was well rewarded when Sandalphon did not stuff him on his fingers, and instead leaned over to _kiss_ his temple. Aziraphale felt sick again, immediately, but Sandalphon didn’t touch him again.

“I’ll keep your secrets safe, since you’ve been so good. Next time I decide to visit, I expect you’ll know what to do.”

Once Aziraphale nodded, Sandalphon left. Just like that. He’d fixed himself back into his trousers and then disappeared without further fanfare. Aziraphale was left there, lying on the floor with Sandalphon’s cum dripping out of him, without an ounce of will to move. He knew he needed to, but he was too caught up on _next time._ Sandalphon intended to renew their promise, and that left a strange feeling in Aziraphale’s gut. Maybe he’d wanted this, after all. He hadn’t tried hard enough to get away. He’d _let_ Sandalphon do all of that.

And now, that he’d been thoroughly claimed, Aziraphale found himself thinking about _next time_. Would Sandalphon make good on his promise and rip a cunt out of Aziraphale’s flesh? Would he _truly_ make Aziraphale produce a womb, have his babies? Aziraphale was terrified of the idea, and the idea terrified him enough that he knew he would produce an effort for that next time. With a cock, there was no way Sandalphon could make him do any of that. If he got down on his knees and presented his rear, Sandalphon would take him. Just like this.

Aziraphale shook his head and finally, things came back into focus. He stared up at Crowley, who had gone so concerned over the past five minutes of absolute silence that he’d pushed his sunglasses up into his hairline. It left him looking rather funny, and that was the first thing Aziraphale latched onto. Crowley was there, purposefully looking a bit ridiculous. Even if they were in the back room of his shop, even if _that_ was where Crowley had chosen to run his hands up Aziraphale’s sides—it was still Crowley.

It was _Crowley__’s_ chest that Aziraphale fell into, Crowley’s arms around his waist, and Crowley’s breath in his hair. Crowley smelled like cinnamon and fresh orange tea, at the best of times. Sandalphon had always smelt of musk and sulfur. Something entirely unsavory that smelled _nothing _like this. And where Sandalphon had always been rough, Crowley was gentle. Slow. _Loving_. He didn’t move so much as an inch when Aziraphale fell into him, just wrapped him in a lose hug and held him there. They stood there for another five minutes of silence before Aziraphale felt okay to stand on his own, and even then, Crowley’s hands were intertwined with his.

“I shouldn’t have,” Crowley said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’m doing better already.”

Crowley gave him a gentle smile before stepping back and ushering Aziraphale out of the back room, back out into the open where the air was free to move, and there was no reason left to think about Sandalphon. Aziraphale stopped short, just before he reached his desk, and looked around expectantly. He’d expected the sofa to be, well, not vacant. But it was entirely empty, save for the trussed-up blanket haphazardly thrown over the arm of it. Aziraphale turned back to Crowley, who had replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Right,” Crowley said. “Meant to tell you, but Gabriel went out real fast. Said he’d be back soon, but I could call him, if you—”

“No! No, that’s alright,” Aziraphale said, smiling. He sat back on the sofa and patted over his thighs. “I’ll be alright.”

Crowley nodded and slumped down on the sofa next to Aziraphale. They settled right into each other, Aziraphale against his chest, and Crowley with his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He gave him a squeeze, and then one miracle later, held out a steaming mug of cocoa for him. Aziraphale took it gladly and sipped at it, gingerly.

They’d been doing this for some time, now, and it still wasn’t easy, settling into things exactly. Eventually, Aziraphale had caved and told Crowley everything that had happened with Sandalphon, and even if Sandalphon wasn’t an issue anymore—the memories remained. Somewhere along the lines, Crowley had done his own confession. In which he and Gabriel had hatched some sort of plot, and here they were. The three of them looking at houses, making a routine out of each other. Gabriel still was faithful to his work in Heaven, but he spent more time on Earth now than he ever had. Just the night prior, he’d had his first taste of chocolate cake—one that Aziraphale had baked at the flat, where Crowley had a fully functioning kitchen.

Gabriel, of course, had _enjoyed_ the cake. It was just another thing that brought doubt into his mind, and if it was Aziraphale serving that doubt, then he would pick at it gratefully. Nothing had been entirely smooth or easy since this had all began, but it was going somewhere. Aziraphale was happy for it, too. It meant there was always someone around for doing just this, curling up on the sofa and rubbing a hand over his shoulders while he sipped on hot cocoa.

“Do you think thoughts like that will ever stop?” Aziraphale asked, looking up to Crowley. Expectantly.

“Eventually, yeah,” Crowley said. “Don’t stress out about it. Just give it time.”

“But we haven’t even—” Aziraphale stopped when Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t need to,” Crowley replied. “I know Gabriel feels the same way. Nothing happens unless you want it to, hm?”

Aziraphale nodded and went back to his cocoa. Part of him didn’t believe that. The first encounter he’d ever had, and he’d been forced onto the floor of his own bookshop and _used_. Some days, he still hesitated to call it what it was, even if Gabriel and Crowley had been so, so insistent that Aziraphale wasn’t had fault. Some days, he still remembered how he let it happen. It made things harder. Aziraphale didn’t know how to forget it, and so far, even with it all ages behind him, he hadn’t _opened up_ to Crowley yet, or to Gabriel. He hadn’t shared a bed with either of them.

There was this floating expectation in the back of his mind that as long as he _hadn__’t_ shared himself like that, with them, that Sandalphon would still be there. Whispering nasty things into his ears, calling Aziraphale names, forcing Aziraphale into things he didn’t want. Aziraphale wanted to get rid of Sandalphon, but he just couldn’t find the strength. Not yet. Until he found it, he would sit on this sofa and drink his cocoa, Crowley’s arm around him.

Eventually, Gabriel would come back to the shop with whatever he’d gone out to pick up. Inevitably, it would include a pack of Aziraphale’s favorite truffles, of which Gabriel would be hesitant to try, but would eat one when Aziraphale offered it to him. Crowley would be there too, huddling around Aziraphale. In the end, they would be entirely content to just sit around and enjoy each other’s company for the night. There were no strings, no conditions, and no fear. Aziraphale felt alright. Safe, even.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏 Gently hinted at poly at the end with Gabriel/Crowley/Aziraphale because I've decided I'm weak for that 𓆏  
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